Margaery rode through the army camp, pondering the quiet. Grooms were handling horses, a few soldiers who were nursing injuries were remaining behind to recuperate, the lords had left some soldiers to guard their possessions, but other than that and the odd wandering patrol, the camp was silent. The army was gone, and she had to join it.
Once she and her escort left the camp, they set their horses to a canter. Time was of the essence, she had to deliver the messages and orders to the Lord Marshall as soon as possible. Everything was coming to a head.
She had left the city well behind her when the outriders found her. Soon her small party was surrounded by hobelars wielding thrusting spears and bows. They had demanded to know who she was and what she was doing, and when they had explained, they had agreed to escort her to the Lord Marshall. They passed four more bands of outriders over the next half a day, being questioned at each encounter, before they made it to where the army had gone.
The army was spread out over a dozen square miles over the fields and hills to the west of Rosby. It all looked a mess to her. There were battalions stationed on hilltops, shields planted and spears lowers as other groups marched against them. Armoured knights in arrowhead formations were maintaining a steady pace as they rode across the plains before falling into a thin line to pass through valleys and along streams. Squares, rectangles and circles of infantry were spread across the wide open fields, some attacking, some defending, others marching to and from the various combats. Were they battling? Had the army fallen into infighting? No. This was something else. Alongside the banners of Tyrell, Lannister and their bannermen, there were others. Plain cloth of red and green. She didn't make much of it, surely it was just another flag for the Lannisters and Tyrells. Then she saw the banner of Lord Footly, one of the bannermen of House Tyrell, flying a plain sheet of crimson alongside his own banner as he led an attack on a village held by Lord Farman, who twinned his three ships with a field of green. What was happening here?
Thankfully Lord Loren was not hard to find. The great banner of the Lannister lion was twinned with the great royal standard, planted in the ground and held between two pikes, billowing like a ship's sail. Under those banners a large table was sat and a large party of knights were waiting. As Margaery was led to them, she saw the Lord Marshall sat at the table, elbows resting on the wood, fingers linked in front of his face as he scanned the field ahead of him with a frown. He wore a scarlet gambeson and black trousers, the only finery, his badge of office on his collar. He unlaced his fingers to make a notation on some papers in front of him, held down against the wind by heavy stones.
They came to a halt as the knights surrounding the Marshall's table approached. She saw him spare them a glance, before returning his gaze to the display on the fields ahead of him. "What is your business here, Queen Margaery," the one eyed knight Gerold said. Ever the loyal guardian, in another life, perhaps even Kingsguard. But he was sworn to another.
"I have messages for the Lord Marshall, from the council."
Gerold stared at her, his eye unmoving, before nodding and commanding the knights to part, allowing Margaery and her guards to dismount and approach the Lord Marshall.
Only when they were at the table did the Lord Marshall look up at them again. "How can I help you, my lady?" He asked softly, before looking back at the battle taking place on the plain before them.
Margaery couldn't help but ask. "What's happening here?"
He pointed at the hills, where the men attacking up them had been repelled and sent running back down the mountain. "The men with the red banners are attacking, the ones with the green, defending."
"Training?" He nodded. "It looks like the defenders are winning," she said, looking at the hill, the bristling ring of defenders at it's crown.
"At the hill, yes," the Lord Marshall said, scribbling down another note before him. "But they rely on it too much, too many men are on the hill, they've already lost three villages across the plain, and are about to lose a fourth," he indicated the clash between Farman and Footly that Margaery had noted earlier. "And they don't have enough on the field to stem the losses, soon the hill will be all they have, and wars are rarely won by holding pieces of dirt."
"That depends on the dirt."
He chuckled. "I suppose it does." He looked over the battlefield again. "Alright, that's enough, signal the end of the exercise."
A large ring of trumpeters sent a trill note ringing across the fields and riders carrying gold cloth spurred their horses onto the field and bring the messages across to the various units and, finally, Loren Lannister turned to face her. "So, how can I help you?"
Margaery stood tall again. "I bring new messages from the council."
"Oh? And what does the council command?"
"My brother Ser Garlan is being recalled, we need him for another purpose." The council often sent her to deliver news that Loren wouldn't like, and so she was well used to the flash of anger that crossed his face.
"Why do you need him? He's actually one of my better ones," he pointed to the field. "He was leading the attackers today."
Margaery looked at the field, trying to spot him, but couldn't see him so turned back to Loren. "Unfortunately we don't have a choice. We've received the latest message from Robb Stark, he demands that the Hand of the King and Regent attend the peace talks, along with a further representative each of the Council and the Houses Lannister and Tyrell. Since he has my father in chains, Willas is in Highgarden and Loras is in the Kingsguard, that leaves me, my mother, my grandmother, and Garlan."
"And Loras as a knight of the Kingsguard no longer represents your house." Loren sighed, reaching up and rubbing his face. "Very well, ser Garlan will depart with you and attend the peace negotiations. Do we know when they are to begin?"
Margaery nodded. After weeks of messages passing to and fro, detailing requests, demands, subtle hints. Everyone from unnamed pages to great lords moving between Robb Stark and King's Landing to finalise a truce under which peace negotiations could begin in good faith. "We will return Robb Stark's family blade to him, and allow his forces to occupy six castles in the crownlands, south of Maidenpool and north of Duskendale. In return he will allow us to re-occupy the six castles between Bitterbridge and Goldengrove, although he may retain an army in the north of that line as he wishes. Your good father has also consented to a Stark garrison occupying the Golden Tooth for the duration of the truce."
She was unsure how he would take that news. It was his wife's home, one day to be hers in her own right. He raised an eyebrow. "My father consented to a castle in the Westerlands coming under the occupation of our enemies?"
"He did?"
"I'm impressed," Loren said. "And then will the negotiations begin?"
Margaery nodded. "They will, our party will meet with King Robb and begin negotiations, as you requested, in good faith."
"Not as I requested," Loren reminded her, "as I need."
He'd explained enough why he needed it, Margaery didn't need another explanation. "Will you march then?" She asked.
"As we agreed," Loren assured her. "When the truce begins I will march back to the Reach and," he took a breath, "fight Stannis Baratheon." He turned back to his table. "You may go to Garlan," he scrawled a letter, "here, show him this, and he will go with you. Now I need to plan for his absence, if you wouldn't mind."
"Of course, Lord Marshall," Margaery said, before turning to find her brother.
The council table was clear, for the first time in weeks. Margaery was actually a little proud. She didn't think that the council table had ever seen such activity.
The weeks had passed in an endless cascade of letters, petitions, requests and demands. Food supplies for the city, food supplies for the army. Estimates for how long they could last with restricted rationing before food ran out. Estimates of how long they could last with restricted rationing before rioting broke out. Locations where the excess population could be moved to if supplies got too low. Pleas from various lords that no one from King's Landing be transported to their lands, pleading the proximity of the war, raiding parties, famine or distance. Other lords listing that they would take refugees skilled in farming, crofting, sailmaking or carpentry, but none whose talents lay in salt mining, metalworking or tanning, or any adjusted combination of the above. Requests from the Reach, begging for reinforcement from Stannis Baratheon's assaults. Reports of towns opening their gates without resistance, or former soldiers turned raiders terrorising the populace. Word from the Iron Islands that had fallen into rebellion, some of the ironmen deciding to continue their raiding practices against the western coasts. Lord Baelish would spread his financial records over the table and warn them how long they could last. They needed influxes of cash. The merchants of the city were unwilling to loan money to the crown due to years of Robert's borrowing. House Lannister was willing, but their money supplies were Casterly Rock and two armies stood between them and it. Littlefinger was assured that the only reason why the Iron Bank wasn't demanding repayment was because they couldn't get here. This was a good thing, they couldn't afford to pay out on those debts yet, but there was a very real danger. If the Iron Bank went to the Baratheons on Dragonstone, and the Baratheons started repaying the debts, would the bank fund them onto the throne to get their gold back? Varys assured them that it was not the case. With the disruptions happening in the Disputed Lands, the Iron Bank was looking to call money back, not send out more and more. Those meetings left many a cloud hanging over the council.
Then there had been the specifics of arranging the negotiations with Robb Stark. Messengers were sent back and forth between the courts, proposing locations, escort allowances, timelines, criteria for extending the truce. Everytime they sent someone they had to be vetted, judged and given their instructions. Finally they had come to an agreement with the Stark King on a location, but after that they had to agree on who would represent each party, Robb had his demands, and they had theirs. But more than the negotiators, they had to go with an escort worthy of their rank. That meant knights, lordlings, ladies and musicians, pavilions and accommodation had to be arranged. Margaery had had to persuade the King to part with two of his Kingsguard, Ser Meryn and Ser Arys, to show royal power at the summit since he wasn't there himself. Tywin had had to be the stick to Margaery's carrot as they got the king to swear publicly that he would abide by the treaty arrangements of his regents for any agreement made before he came of age in front of three of Robb Stark's representatives and the entire court. Each time Robb sent someone to the capital, Sansa was brought out to check on her wellbeing and pass on a message. After the first one had been confiscated after Sansa had read it, to check for hidden codes, Sansa had started reading the letters from her brother and returning them to the messengers once memorised. She had smiled sweetly the first time that had happened. "My brother's words are safe in my head, and I can assure you, my hosts will not try and remove them." She had been very impressive, especially considering where she had been when Margaery had first arrived in the city. They had had to arrange for lordlings to accompany them with their retinues, and be sure that such agreements went well with Loren, who needed them for the war, and the lords themselves, many of whom had no desire to go and had to have their palms greased or arms twisted and…
So much. Now that was all done and the council was sat. No one looked immaculate as they had after the victory that had brought them together, they all looked exhausted. Exhausted but determined. Everything was set, the board was ready. Tywin looked at her and Garlan. Of them all, he was coping the best. "Tell us honestly, ser Garland, can he do it?"
Garlan stood perfectly comfortably before the Hand's question. "If anyone can, he can," he replied simply. "Let him fight the war, it's the only throw of the dice we have left."
Tywin nodded slowly, reluctantly. "And your brother?" he said to them both.
"Willas has confirmed the supplies are ready. As soon as Robb Stark turns over the castles to us, the northern supply route will allow us to re-supply the city."
"And the army," Garlan added.
"Then it's decided," ser Kevan declared. "We are ready."
"We are," Margaery said.
They went around the table. Lord Varys, Lord Baelish and the Grand Maester all gave their consent. Everyone looked at Cersei, who looked ready to spit fire. But she kept her mouth clamped shut and nodded. "Then with your leave, I will ride to meet Robb Stark with his father's sword. Ser Garlan, you will follow on behind with Lord Baelish, the Hand of the King and the rest of the negotiating party." Kevan said.
"We're agreed on the list?" Margaery asked.
"It's finalised," Tywin said, making it very clear there would be no more discussion about the lords and nobles who would be present at the negotiations at Yore. Yore was a town that straddled the Blackwater Rush just south of the God's Eye. At Yore the next world would be decided.
"Then it's time," Baelish said.
"It's time." Margaery confirmed. They all got to their feet, nodded the mutual respect that had grown between them all these last weeks before turning and leaving the room. What happened now was beyond council meetings. They had to take it into the world.
